"If I had more strength in my left arm I would try those vines once more," he said to himself. "Things can't last this way forever. I must—what's that?"
Footsteps sounded in the hall outside. They drew nearer, and at last stopped in front of the spare-room door. A hand was laid upon the knob, and keys rattled.
"We have searched every room but this," came in the smooth tones of the English merchant. "Go inside, my man, and see if a burglar is hiding among the furniture. Here, take this revolver; and don't fear to use it if necessary."
Like a hunted animal at bay, the lad glared about him. Discovery seemed certain. Over in one corner he espied a chest of drawers. It afforded poor concealment, but it was the best at hand. To drag it away from the wall was the work of a second. When the door was finally opened, Nattie was crouched behind the piece of furniture.
He heard the soft steps of a pair of sandals; he heard chairs and various articles moved about, then the searcher approached his corner. Desperate and ready to fight for his liberty, he glanced up—and uttered a half-stifled cry of amazement and joy!
CHAPTER XXII. THE PURSUIT.
It is always the unexpected that happens. When Nattie glanced up from his place of refuge behind the chest of drawers, he saw a young man clad as a native servant looking down at him. There was the gayly colored cloth tied around the head; the kimono, or outer garment cut away at the neck, and the plain silk kerchief tied with a bow under the ear.
But the face was not that of a native waallo, or houseman; it was Mori Okuma himself, the very last person on earth Nattie expected to find in the spare room of the Black mansion.